Forte
by Y0urW0r5tN1ghtmar3
Summary: Punk!lock AU: Sherlock is the lead singer in a punk-rock band BAKER STREET. When John gets dragged to a concert and backstage meet-up by Mike, Sherlock vows to teach John the beauty of music.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_Why am I even here... _I thought as I wandered through the archway to the stadium_. I don't even like punk music._

Unfortunately my friend Mike did, and as a result of him winning 2 free tickets and having no girlfriend to take instead, I got dragged along. I didn't even know what band it was!

"Come on, mate! We're going to miss the opening song!" Mike yelled over the din of the other concert goers, grabbing a fistful of my shirt and dragging me behind him. To be honest, Mike looked a bit ridiculous, his faux leather jacket too tight on his larger form, and multiple fake piercings about to fall off his ears. He couldn't get real ones, no matter how much he wanted them, because of his job. I felt like I was the only normal person here, wearing regular jeans and a t-shirt in a sea of leather and ripped denim.

We made our way in the dim lights to our seats, elbowing our way through the teens standing in the middle of the bloody aisle cough cough. I don't know how Mike got free tickets this good, but they were in the pit, right in front of the stage, with all the hardcore fans willing to pay this much to get close to a band.

The setup team already had the backdrop up behind the stage. It was a plain white banner, with the band name written in plain black letters across it. **Baker Street** was the name of the band we were seeing, apparently.

The lights began to dim, and the voices began to get louder with the screams of anticipation for the band about to go on. Spotlights turned on to reveal an entirely white stage, white instruments, and the band members in white clothes. The drummer, bassist, and guitarists were all there, but the place in the center of the stage, where the mic stand was placed for the lead singer, was empty.

"Dude, where's the singer?" I called to Mike.

"Ooh, just you wait. He'll come." Mike chuckled with a suspicious looking smile.

Just then, a smaller stage began to lower from the ceiling, with a six-foot-tall gorgeous man standing on it. It sank to the floor, and he stepped from it with a casual grace that took my breath away. He too was dressed in all white, but his shirt was ripped, revealing a smooth stomach and skin almost as pale as the shirt he was wearing. His white jeans were skinny and clung to his equally thin, long legs.

Mike glanced at me, and nearly burst out laughing at my face. I never was good at hiding my emotions. And his voice. God help me, it was like the voice of an angle.

It was wavering and lilting as he belted the song lyrics through a vintage-style mic. Song after song he sang, and the rest of his band was glistening with sweat; but not that man.

"Do you know his name?" I shouted over the screaming fans and brilliant speaker quality.

"The lead singer? Name's Sherlock Holmes!" Mike yelled.

_Interesting name..._ I thought to myself. But the music wasn't half bad, so I listened and let the bass pound in my chest and reverb through my whole body. I had always liked the feeling, like your whole body was trembling with power, your heart letting the deep bass sweep through it and make it tremble.

The song faded out, the instruments going silent. Then Sherlock began to softly sing the intro to a new song, crooning with his deep voice. The drums started, tapping out a beat to the words he was singing. The guitar started plucking a simple 4-note stanza on repeat, adding music to the song the way an artist ads color to a sketch.

The instruments stopped, letting Sherlock's voice sing out what seemed like the last note of the song, letting the key hang in the air.

Then the drums, guitar, bass and Sherlock all began at once, louder, with power where there had been only soul before. The reason why they were all wearing white was revealed: canons in front of the stage erupted, shooting different colors of paint all over the stage and band members, coating them in a rainbow. Sherlock kept singing, his voice screaming emotions onto the crowd. It seemed like he was singing a part of his soul away into the audience.

I stood there in awe. Who was this man, who could be calm and rage, soul and spirit, water and fire all at once, just by singing into a microphone?

I noticed Mike looking at me, a childish smirk on his face. The song faded out, and the screaming of the fans intensified so I could barely form a thought.

"Now you see what I mean when I say this is the best band I've ever heard." Mike chuckled.

Then Sherlock actually began to speak.

"Hello..." was all he got out before the audience started screaming to hard and loud it was like I could feel the force pushing at my back.

"Wow... I think it's safe to say you lot enjoyed the performance then." He chuckled. "Unfortunately, we've only got one last song in the set." He shrugged apologetically. "I just wanted to let you guys know that Baker Street appreciates you lot coming out and seeing us tonight, and to be sure to do it again."

Then he stepped back and picked up a guitar that had been leaning against the side of the stage. It was a simple black acoustic, and because it had been leaning off to the side, it didn't have any paint on it. Sherlock picked it up, and grabbed a towel that had been tossed to him from a band-mate. After wiping his face off and setting down the towel, he sat down on a metal fold-up chair that had been brought on stage.

"This song goes out to... an old friend of mine." Sherlock sighed into the microphone. He began to strum a simple melody onto the guitar, his fingers lithely jumping from chord to chord. It was amazing how his music could be both soft as water and sharp as rocks all at once.

When the song was over, there was no goodbye, no final farewell. He just stood up and walked off the stage, leaving his band-mates to wave to the crowd.

"I decided to leave something as a surprise, John. We also get to go backstage and meet with the band." Mike leaned in and told me, as the last trickles of applause died out.

"Really? It's only my first time seeing them, I'm going to sound like an idiot if I say anything..." I raised my eyebrows at my large friend.

"Oh, relax. Sherlock is the only one you might have to worry about being embarrassing around. All the others are way more chill." He said, walking around to the side of the stage and flashing our passes at the guard.

"Thanks for being so reassuring." I said. Especially when, for some reason, Sherlock was the person I wanted to impress the most.

++++++++++++++++++++

_Sup? This is my first story on here since, like, 2011 or something. I hope ya'll like it. I thought it sounded good in my head, at least. Any reviews will assist in making sure I actually update this thing._

_Word of advise about me: I have never ever in my entire life finished a story I've started. Just a warning._

_but, I'll try to promise, if it seems like people are actually reading this shit, then I'll update it. I don't really have a schedule right now, just when ever I get a laptop with decent Wi-Fi._

_also, the reason it's R-rated is because I'm planning on writing some smut/slash/lemons/whatever you want to call it later on, when, as we all know will happen, John and Sherlock get together. just fyi._

_hopefully my 45 or so followers from pre-7th grade will see me posting something and get excited... maybe maybe... my writing style has probably changed, but hopefully for the better._

_anyhoodles, this AN has gone on for a long time, so i'll let anyone who actually reads things get on with their life, and comment on my story._


	2. Chapter 2

When I walked backstage, with Mike, I practically shit myself I was so nervous. The weird thing was, I had no right to be.

Undoubtedly, Mike brought me here to see if I would actually flirt with Sherlock, since he knew I was gay and had a thing for curly hair. Unfortunately, the general rule was "straight until proven gay", so I would have to keep my hormones in check to avoid serious embarrassment. Generally the only safe way to definitely pick up gay men and not straight ones was to head for a gay bar.

"Let's see... Where - Oh there he is!" Mike said, grabbing my arm. I saw a shock of curly, almost-black hair through the crowd of backstage workers, and let Mike pull me along.

When we walked closer, I could see that he was talking to 2 of his band mates, a mousy looking girl with brown hair, and another man with a receding hair line and a small mouth.

Sherlock had apparently changed, into something I wouldn't have pegged the rocker on stage to wear. I would've thought that another T-shirt and ripped jeans would be the norm, but apparently he preferred formal-ish attire, of which consisted a dark blue button-up and a pair of black jeans.

I thought it was a good look for him.

We walked up to the trio, and, not wanting to be rude, waited for them to finish whatever conversation they were having and acknowledge us.

After about 2 minutes, it appeared that wasn't going to happen. The girl appeared to have seen us, but whenever we made eye contact her eyes would quickly flit away. I wasn't sure if I should be offended, but before I could decide a man with dark but graying hair and a strong, rectangle face walked over to us.

"Oy, you guys must be the ones who won those tickets." The man gave a small smile and nodded before elbowing Sherlock in the side, cutting him off mid-sentence. "You, pay attention to this lot, Sherlock. They paid real quid to see ya... well not really, but you know what I mean."

Sherlock slowly turned around, glaring at the man.

"Yes, I can see that. I've known why and how they got here from the moment they walked up behind me." At this he made a vague gesture at Mike. "Wanna-be rock star, but stuck behind a desk working as a medical teacher to a class of students he hates. That one's not much better, a struggling veteran trying to make a life back in London after Afghanistan. A story sure to make anyone but me cry, of course. Now Lestrade, I would appreciate it if you didn't waste my time with annoying fans. You know how i hate that." he ended, and turned back to talking to the mousy girl and awkward-looking man.

Lestrade looked furious, his face beet red and hands clenched at his side. After taking a deep breath and glaring at the back of Sherlock's head as he wandered away, he turned back to us.

"Look, I'm really sorry about that. Yes, he's always a jackass, sorry to burst your bubble. Anyways, you know these guys i guess?" he asked. Mike nodded enthusiastically while I shook my head.

"Why'd you get backstage thingies if you don't know who they are?" Lestrade looked confusedly at me.

"I did nothing. I got dragged here by this one." I stated, jabbing a thumb in Mike's direction. "I really don't care if he's an ass. He makes pretty damn good music."

"That he does. Anyway, this is Molly Hooper, drummer extraordinaire, and that's Bill Wiggins our dorky but lovable bassist. Irene's got off somewhere, she'll turn up eventually." Lestrade glanced over his shoulder as Wiggins scowled but with a smirk on his face that suggested familiarity with the term.

I shook hands with the two as Mike gushed about how he loved their music and they were the best band ever and could I please have your autograph?

I slowly made my way away from the crowd, not really as interested in talking about "you should totally write a song about the feel of rain. It would totally match your hipster punk theme!" as Mike was.

I walked down hallways, searching for a way out of the stadium but getting hopelessly lost. Every door looked the same: peeling white paint and dull metal handles. Finally I saw a glowing neon exit sign and followed the arrow to a red door with a metal crossbar handle.

I pushed the door open with a creak into the cool night air. The door had opened into an alleyway, and the air was fresh but was permeated with the sickly sweet smell of rotting trash. I walked out, shoving my hands into my pockets as my breath fogged the air in front of me. A deep sigh jolted me from staring out at the busy street.

"Judging from the look on your face I'd say you're not a loony here to stalk me. Just trying to escape the monotonous chaos of it all, eh?" a familiar deep drawl sounded from the alley wall behind me. I turned around and saw a familiar man standing behind me, puffing a cigarette with expert fingers behind me.

"Those things'll kill you, 'ya know." I said, not moving from my spot outside the door.

"Not soon enough for me. Life's not interesting enough to not take a few risks now and then. I simply_ live _for the excitement." He said, rolling his eyes and taking another long drag.

"Your life must be pretty rubbish if you think smoking counts as an exciting experience." I said, puffing out a foggy breath.

"I wouldn't say it's too terribly exciting. Nothing compared to the exciting, adrenaline-filled daily of a man such as yourself, I'm sure." his shoulders lurched with a small, breathy bark of laughter.

"No need to be snarky. Just trying to make small talk before I head back to my exciting life." I shrugged, and shifted my weight around awkwardly.

"Well don't let me keep you. You're a busy man. Best get back to the wife you don't have." He dropped his cigarette butt and ground it under his toe. My ears were flushed, stung by his off-putting and rude remarks.

"I will. Good luck with your music and all that." I grumbled, turning on my heel and walking down the alley. I could feel Sherlock's blue eyes boring into my head as I walked out of the alley and out onto the sidewalk. I didn't spare him a second glance as i turned the corner and went to find where Mike parked the car.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

_hey guys! thanks for the reviews and all that. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside... It's usually weird when people are all gushy about their reviewers... but i feel the need to say something. _  
_anyways, yeah. so here's the much looked forward to chapter two. i hope this was satisfying enough of a first meeting between john and sherlock for you! i thought it was pretty good, at least._  
_be sure to tell all your little friends and whatnot about my tiny little story. hopefully you guys can actually motivate me to finish a story. usually my problem is i come up with a newer interestinger (shhhh it's a word. i promise. would i lie to you?) story idea, and kinda get sucked into that and forget about the one before. the never ending cycle. /sigh/... _  
_so yeah. hopefully you weren't too disappointed. _


	3. Chapter 3

The walk home was cold.

After walking out on Sherlock's rude remarks and off-putting personality, I hadn't been able to find Mike and discovered that I had left my mobile at my apartment. All-in-all, it had not been a very pleasant post-concert experience.

What could make a man as bitter as Sherlock? He had seemed to be so open and harmless on stage when he was singing, and yet the minute he walked off it was like a wall had come down and shut him off from the rest of the world.

I also thought about the things he had noticed about me: an Afghanistan veteran, single. How had he been able to know those things? I would have thought he was psychic, if I believed in that sort of thing. It just seemed so improbable that someone as genius as Sherlock was with songwriting could be so bitter.

Shaking my head, I tried not to think of the man I had had the misfortune of meeting face-to-face. It would have been better if I could have not spoken to him and never known what an asshole he really was.

I sighed, and continued on my way home. There was no use dwelling on it. There was next to no chance I would ever see him again anyway. All I wanted right now was to go home, and cuddle with Mary.

I shivered in the cool night air, and hugged my jacket closer. I could see the lamp post that signaled the beginning of Baker street... And home. I gave a small smile at the thought of curling up with a good book in a cozy jumper by the gas fireplace.

The building was tall, covered in brick and creamy-grey slabs of stone held in place with mortar. On the top of the door were simple brass numbers that read 221B. Below that was the familiar knocker that only guests bothered to use.

When I got inside the decor was just as I remembered, a nice homey feeling, like my grandmother had decorated the entire building. The floor was wood, and the wallpaper was a soothing dark green. Mrs. Hudson insisted that green was a calming color and made jokes that the color was useful when she was dealing with irritating rentors or doing laundry.

I wondered if Mrs Hudson was awake, only to have it answered when the woman came flittering out of the kitchen.

"Oh, dear, what were you doing out so late? Best not make a habit of it dear; everyone needs their beauty sleep," she gave a cheeky and knowing smile "some more than others."

"Hullo, Mrs. Hudson. Apologies, Mike dragged me off to go see a band he likes, name of Baker Street, actually. Wonder where he came up with the name..." I trailed off, thinking once more about the pale jackass. Apparently nobody was letting him get out of my head.

"Indeed. Well, best get yourself off to bed then, since you had a late night. Good night dear," Mrs. Hudson said, turning around and heading back to the kitchen to finish the washing up.

I silently agreed, and headed up the stairs to my flat. I could barely afford it, but Mrs. Hudson sometimes did me favours like letting me pay late or knocking off 50 quid if she knew things were tight. She was a good lady, and I loved her like I loved my own mum.

I sighed when I made it to my flat. It was just as I left it, neat military organization, everything in its proper place. Then Mary came running and threw herself into my arms.

"Hey, girl! How have you been?" I asked her as she nuzzled into my chest.

She gave a loud woof in reply, and proceeded to clean my face of any microscopic pieces of food that might be left. Mary was my beautiful Belgian Tervuren. Light golden blond fur tickled my palms and her dark brown muzzle found its way against my chest.

I sighed with contentment as I pushed Mary off myself and walked over to my recliner. The familiar cushion sank beneath my weight with the ease of something done many times before. I leaned my head back, my arm hanging over the arm rest and absently petting Mary's head.

I thought about getting up and making myself a cup of tea, but I suddenly felt bone tired. There was zero desire in me to get up from my current position.

My thoughts drifted to my run in with Sherlock. He seemed like such a prick, but I got the feeling that that wasn't the whole story. He seemed aloof in the way that meant he had something to hide, not rude out of pure spite, though I was sure he wasn't all that impressed by the people he was surrounded by.

I got the feeling that Sherlock was too smart for his own good. He had one of those auras, one that screamed he thought he was better than everybody else. If Lestrade was anything to go by, he often snapped and deduced things about people. My therapist would call it a defense mechanism to protect himself from other people because of some childhood trauma. I just thought he needed someone to dumb him down and put him in his place. One of those blokes in a constant state of tetchiness.

"Tch. That man needs to be knocked down a few pegs." I grumbled, finally mustering the strength to heave myself out of my chair. I shuffled to my room, shedding my shirt with a grunt of pain. My shoulder still got phantom pains from when I had been shot 6 months ago. My therapist insisted it was PTSD, but the pain was definitely real to me.

My shoes were toed off and kicked to the side, and I tugged my jeans down my legs, leaving me in my pants. Face first, I dramatically flopped onto my bed with a sigh, cozying into the cool sheets. Mary trotted up to the bed and leaped onto it. I pushed her to the side as I crawled into the proper position, sinking into my plain white sheets.

"Damn, I'm shattered..." I moaned. "That's the last time I'm ever agreeing to go with Mike ever again."

Finally, laying face down, my eyelids began to close. Mary snuggled closer to me, her cold nose sending shivers down my spine. At last, I fell asleep.

_Hello one and all! Sorry for the hiatus, I was suffering a bit of writers block and on top of that I was super busy. But the chapter's up, so enjoy it. I'm going on vacation for 3 weeks, so I'll definitely be writing, but I may or may not post anything. it depends on... Actually my even writing depends on if they have wifi. But oh well, I'll do my best. _

_Sorry if the chapter seemed a little bit unfulfilling as I said, I was having writers block, and wanted to give you guys a little bit more on what John was thinking. Hope you don't mind TOO much... I tried. i really did. oh well._

_well, Aaron out, then._


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